


Under Apollo’s Shadow

by Albione



Series: Traviamento [5]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst, Elio makes a decision, Hope, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 12:23:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18800272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albione/pseuds/Albione
Summary: Elio makes a move...





	Under Apollo’s Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this story; we have nearly arrived to the end of the road.

Elio sat at the edge of the pier looking at the emerald waters, the rhythm of the waves lulling him into a reeve.   
He wondered why Homer called it wine dark sea; was the sea at nightfall? Was it the blood of heroes tinging the waters into a dark red? On the other hand, being blind, had Homer been cruelly tricked when asking about descriptions? 

It always seemed to go back to water, the pool, the river, the waterfall and the Hudson river.   
Always back to Oliver, the centre of all emotions from ecstasy to sorrow, the propellor of his feelings as he played, his fingers caressing the keys as he caressed the skin, exploding in anger thinking of the hurt, searching melodies to revive the emotions he just could not let go.

But it was all in the past; there was no longer anger fuelled by pain and pride, that had evaporated as they had desperately hugged on the pier.   
Elio could still feel his fingers digging deeply into Oliver’s back, afraid that he would once more disappear, carried away by the breeze as his father’s ashes.   
Trying to hold on a little longer, a second that was worth a century.

But they had not talked, not really talked; Oliver had walked him back to the hotel and left.   
Elio turned before entering the building to look at Oliver’s back, to catch a last glimpse of the man. He was sure that Oliver had just turned to do the same.  
There was just so much to say, that they both wanted to say, but the fear of opening a dam of mixed emotions that would have drowned them had held both of them back.

Elio had no strength to hear about happy married life, not when he had only a desert to describe, a nothingness since that phone call so long ago.  
He had refused Etienne’s help when his father had died; he only wanted his mother’s presence. As the boy he had been, he sat in front of the fireplace, this time remembering his father and holding back the tears.

“Elio, please do not nutre the pain within you again. Please!”  
His mother’s words reached him and he turned towards her; the death of her husband had crushed her, her face was pinched, her eyes hollow.  
Mother and son looked at each other, desperately worried about each other and feeling helpless.  
“Mamam I will try, I cannot promise more than this…”

And he had tried, travelling the world with an ever smaller pile of ashes.   
Each time he let his father free he felt lighter, each place his father loved brought back happy memories, slowly every layer of pain and regret was removed.  
All of them slowly peeling away till the last one remained.  
Oliver.

“I am sorry Etienne, I have stolen too much time from you…”  
The room was bare, he was moving away from Paris, but he knew he had to talk to Etienne in person, he would not subject anyone to the pain of a final phone call.  
Etienne’s expression mirrored his, a disembodied voice on the phone or a face lo look at made no difference to the devastation of an ending. The end of the affair was guilt.

He wondered if the pain he felt hurting Etienne was felt by Oliver all those years ago. As an adult he knew now that love was not enough; yes, he and Oliver were more than lovers, or that was what he thought, but there was as much that divided them than united them. They had the stars, but you cannot live with stars alone.   
Seeing Oliver again reminded him of the life he could have had, wanted to have, but age had taught him that wanting was never enough. Etienne had wanted him.

 

Elio stood up and turned his back to the sea.   
He had freed some of his father’s ashes in the Aegean, just the last small amount was left. Soon there would be none.  
He had decided that the past needed facing, he knew what he wanted, finally ready to fight for something.  
It might end in more pain, defeat was certain, but “It is better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all” he thought.

He wondered how long he had to wait, or when would it become apparent that his message in a bottle had been ignored.

The telegram had been sent before he left, two weeks ago. He had time, there were worse places to spend one’s summer than under the shadow of Apollo.

He was going to wait as long as he could.   
Wasting only a month was a small price after ten years of coma, if it meant waking up to life again.


End file.
